


Rusted Shields

by colorfulCheshire



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Developing Relationship, Drabble Collection, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Gen, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-03-28 19:08:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3866422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colorfulCheshire/pseuds/colorfulCheshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which two knights learn that it's easier to open up to someone who's learning to let you in as well.  Between culture-swapping and crippling self-discovery, they fumble their way to a word they've never quite had a grasp on individually - comfort.</p><p>---<br/>A collection for shorter davekat drabbles and prompts that can't really stand alone.  Additional tags will be in the notes at the top of each chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rain Song

**Author's Note:**

> **Tags:** fluff, sleepy cuddles

You wake slowly, your eyelids held comfortably shut even as your dream fades away entirely, leaving you alone in your hazy thoughts. There’s a gentle hand in your hair, soft fingers rubbing pleasantly along your hornbed – a likely cause for the low rumbling in your chest that you’re just now aware of.

It’s raining.

Or at least, it sounds like it’s raining. The entire room is filled with the steady pitter-pattering of rain over faint music, the slow beat casting a lazy spell on your thinkpan despite having just woken up. Curious and a little nostalgic, you open your eyes to survey the room, Dave’s room. As suspected, you see no rain, but you notice that small lights on the speakers in the corners are glowing a faint blue, indicating that they are in use. You suppose that’s what has the room filled with music and rain songs. It’s pleasant, all the same.

The fingers against your hornbed comb over your hair before catching your bangs and pulling them out of your eyes. You glance up at Dave, who’s now looking down at you curiously, and you roll over in his lap now to look directly up at him instead of out of the corner of your eye.

“Sleep well? You look a little lost there, babe.” His smile is warm and entirely open, something you’ve noticed as a common occurrence when he catches you waking from sleep; it fills your body with warm flutterbugs.

“I thought it was raining,” you confess quietly, voice thick with leftover sleep while your body is still attempting to wake up more fully. The rain and steady beat aren’t helping much in that regard.

He looks confused for a brief moment before glancing at his laptop screen and then his speakers before he realizes what you’re talking about. His confusion is replaced by a sheepish smile that’s barely there at all, the expression he gives when you’ve caught him doing something he’s slightly embarrassed about.

“Oh that.” He reaches up with his other hand to scratch the back of his neck, confirming your suspicions of embarrassment. “Yeah, I found a sample I had in my files and I wanted to try it out. Makes me think of home, I guess.”

You know he misses Earth, much the same way you miss Alternia. Even with the danger of your planet, you miss your home. He doesn’t say the same often, at least not out loud, but with how often you catch him going through old photos to edit or showing you old movies that he swears are being watched for irony, you know he’s missing Earth.

You lean your head into his touch, eyes falling shut as you listen to the rain and his music.

“Yeah, me too.”


	2. When I was Crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [frostingflakes prompted](http://colorfulcheshire.tumblr.com/post/112915370059/davekat-9): Things you said when I was crying
> 
>  **Tags:** pre-retcon, hurt/comfort, flushed romance

“Aw man, look at this perfectly plush pile sitting all unassuming and unused.  What a shame there’s no Karkats around to share this prime cuddle space with.”

You know he knows that you’re here; you can feel his eyes practically boring holes through the mass of his stolen pillows and blankets over your head.  He circles your hiding spot twice back and forth, waiting for you to respond and you wonder if he’ll finally give up and leave your room after the third time around.

“Welp, guess I’ll just have to wait around til he shows up.”  Well, there goes that wish.  A second later, a heavy weight lands directly in front of you, tugging you down by the blanket thrown over your head, eliciting a grunt of surprise from you.  “Oh? Maybe I spoke too soon.”  You can hear the grin in his voice and it leaves you with a stone in your gut.  You don’t want to ruin his mood.

“Go away.”  Your muffled order is a little late, interrupted by the blanket being pulled back from your head.

“Karkat?” his voice has gone from playful to concern in the span of a second, and it kills you.  You can feel his eyes on the cooling tear tracks down your cheeks, and even though you’ve averted your eyes from him, you can still see his expression falling behind his shades in your peripheral.   Why couldn’t he be somewhere else for once?

“What?”  You won’t look at him.  You refuse.

He doesn’t respond, sitting silently beside you with his mouth drawn into a small, hard line.  You’re contemplating telling him to go away again when he shifts beside you, digging through the pile of mattress toppings and making a space at your side.

“What are you doing?” you ask in a huff, finally turning to look at him just as he shifts and slips into the space he’s made beside you, his arms sliding around your middle to pull you close to him.  

“Getting my cuddle on with my matesprite, what’s it look like?”   He tugs you closer as he speaks, and you let yourself uncurl to lay your head against his shoulder because it’s far more comfortable than clinging to your knees while slowly suffocating under a pile of blankets.

“Matesprit,” you correct him quietly as you let yourself lean further into him, finding comfort in his arms around you.

The two of you sit like that for a while, his arms around your middle as you hide your face beneath his chin while you try and utterly fail at pushing away things you’d rather not think about with him right beside you.  It’s bad enough that you’ve brought his mood down by him finding you like this, but you don’t want to make things worse by concerning him with shit that’s entirely your fault to begin with.

You don’t know when you started crying again, but you become aware of it when a cool hand presses against your cheek gently once, twice, and then a third time.  You realize, through the fog of your thoughts, that he’s papping you.  For a brief moment, there’s a flash of pain from the part of you that’s incredibly flushed for this human idiot, but you’re able to muffle that feeling by reminding yourself that he doesn’t mean it that way; he doesn’t know any better.

You risk a glance up at him, not caring about the tears leaking from your eyes as you know he can already feel them against your cheek.  His lips are drawn into a small, pensive frown, eyebrows furrowed in pity when he meets your gaze.  You want to say something, but you don’t know what.

“Am I doing this right?” he asks quietly after a moment, a look of doubt subtle in his features as his papping stops and he brushes away a tear beneath your eyes with his thumb.

No.  He’s not doing this right in nearly any form other than his grasp on pity.  For one, he’s your matesprit, not your moirail, if you even have a moirail anymore.  That, and even if he was filling in for the role of that quadrant, his papping has now turned atrociously red.  But … but you don’t mind that it’s all wrong.  You’ve always been all wrong, so maybe it’s fitting for you.  


	3. Discard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old (9 months old) piece that I posted on tumblr a while back, but now that I have a place to throw it here, why not? In all honesty, it's long enough to stand alone, but plot-wise, it's more character introspection without much of a direction, so yeah, once again, it's better here than alone.
> 
> **Tags:** pre-retcon, Karkat Thoughts, hurt/comfort, red romance

It’s cold out on top of the meteor, which you suppose makes sense seeing as it’s likely the game’s mechanics allowing you to breath, meaning that there’s zero to minimal atmosphere on this giant chunk of space rock hurtling through what you can only describe as eons of void. There are no stars, no galaxies in the distance – only a faint green light years ahead you, and a looming electric green trailing behind you just at the edges of your vision.

You sometimes sit and stare at that speck of green, the Jack that isn’t yours, the demon that’s killed you once before, shocking your body with the very-real dream pain on Prospit’s golden moon. Your eyes like to play tricks on you and cause him to fade out of sight until you look away and see him suddenly appear in your peripheral, appearing closer than before. But you suppose that can’t be right. Rose would tell you if he were drawing near, if this timeline were doomed for some reason or another, right?

Or maybe you are in a doomed timeline, the clock of your universe ticking steadily to a stop until the gears fall apart and you wake to a dream bubble, eyes white before you have to fear the creeping red of adulthood. Why would she tell you? Wouldn’t it be better to let everyone live their days in ignorant bliss, preparing for a final battle that will never come, that would kill them anyways?

What are you even doing out here? You should be up and planning, fighting, rallying, _something_. You’re . . . you’re still the leader, you suppose; no one else picked up the title even though there’s two god tiers far more qualified than you to lead the rag-tag bunch to a better fight, a better chance. What can you even do? You were too scared to die on your questbed so now you face your death here at the hands of a Jack that’s never met you, but who still shares your blood.

There’s nothing you can do, and you know it. So you’ll just sit here and stare into space, not sure what to make of the green light of your future or what to do with the green speck of death that is the culmination of all your past mistakes. Either way, you’re still placing the blame on some version of yourself, future or past, and you want to kick yourself for not even properly laying claim to all the shit you’re responsible for and the absolute lack of anything you can do to make up for it all.

The meteor is rough and oddly dusty beneath your palms, and you dig your finger pads into the grit of the ground. You wonder if this dirt is some stardust from a dead light that died lightyears ago, or if this is all just a simulation coded by the game, placed there when Skaia appeared from wherever the hell it came from.

The thought scares you, either that everything you ever knew was just some mechanic leading up to this fucked up multi-session of a game, or that it all came from some unknown power that may still be looking over you, writhing black tentacles poised and ready to strangle whatever timeline that is no longer useful for the alpha.

You’re not the alpha.

The thought never fails to find you when you’re by yourself or even around your rag-tag crew. There’s no way that you can know you’re alpha for sure, except for maybe Rose or Dave, but fuck knows if they’d tell you anything so fucking depressing, and then only Terezi could figure that out. She wouldn’t tell you. You’d freak out, and flip more shits than you even have the physical capability to flip, so she’d keep quiet, hiding it behind that shit-eating grin and her tinted shades.

What would you even do if you weren’t the alpha? What would you do if you were? Is there really any one thing the miserable Karkat Vantas can do to change this hellhole of a game for the better? If there was, there’s certainly no one who would tell you, not even some hate-driven future version of yourself.

You pull your hands away from the ground to wrap your arms around yourself. You’re freezing and your fingers are gritty where you lay your face on top of them, but if you were to return to the lab, you’d just wander the halls without a clue of what to do. Maybe you’d hear your abandoned moirail’s honks through the vents, but since when have you been able to gather the courage to climb up there and find him? What would you even say? Hey, sorry that I completely ignored you and mocked your shitty-ass religion in favor of self-deprecation and pining after the girl you’ve managed to nab a quadrant with from right under my nose. Yeah, great way to end your miserable life, Karkat.

You’re half in a trance, too cold to sleep and caught between staring at the fibers of your sleeves and back up to the speck that is another session’s Jack, when far behind you, the lab door slides open and shut. You don’t bother to look up, too cold and apathetic to unwind from your own personal cocoon. They stop behind you, obviously unable to care about your personal space because you can feel the heat radiating from their legs. You don’t protest. There’s only two assholes who would stand that close, and you don’t hear the chittering chuckle that marks one of them. She would feel cooler against your back anyways.

“Gonna catch some nasty troll cold if you keep this up, and I guarantee you that you’ll be public enemy number one if you start an epidemic on this chunk of rock. We’ll have to alchemize pitchforks and torches and some shitty blanket-fort tower for you to run to once all of Can Town gets on your ass.”

You snort a response, something like a growl attempting to sound, but you can’t find the energy to make it even remotely threatening. Dave doesn’t say anything or even laugh, but moves to sit down beside you in silence. You’re suddenly incased in warmth as he leans against you and throws his cape around your back. You can’t help but to slump against him and pull the warm fabric closer around you, and you say nothing when he rests his head against yours.

“So why you sitting out here by yourself, babe? There’s a perfectly good couch for sitting inside, and at the risk of blowing your mind, something way better than this black space shit and it’s called a TV. Wow right? I know, fucking amazing.” He nods against your hair and you just roll your eyes. In another moment, he seems to recall that he had a point before his tangent, and when you don’t answer, he repeats himself. “What’s up, Kitkat?”

“I’m last month’s disposed garbage still sitting like an unwanted news column on the front step and smelling up the whole lawn ring.” You sigh, feeling like for once, your shitty metaphor feels spot-on with how you’re feeling.

“Woah woah woah, I kiss those lips. You are _not_ trash, Karkat.” He ruffles your hair playfully and you actually growl this time, though more out of habit than force and he just laughs and kisses your hair. You frown. He really shouldn’t do that. You’re not worth it.

“Then please, Dave, Seer of Karkat, what the fuck am I?”

You can fucking _feel_ him grin against your hair before he pulls away and stands, swiveling in front of you to offer his hands out to you. You take them cautiously, but instead of pulling you up, he leans in closer to look at you, head tilted down to peer over his shades.

“You’re a lot of things, Karkat. A lot of them pretty great, maybe a few that aren’t so great, but hey it’s what makes you Karkat Vantas and everyone likes you that way. Can’t have you pulling an Ebony Dementia shit and going all perfect god-troll on us now. Besides, Kanaya’s already got the vampire thing down.”

“Forget trash, I’m whatever the hell you call the linguistic shitstain that you just tried to pass off as any form of communication. What the hell were you even saying just now?”

He laughs and pulls you up to your feet and against him. You shove at him, just because he’s being ridiculous and fuck any idea of his that says you’re just going to sit there and let him spout that garbage without any form of retribution. He just pulls you closer and you huff against him as he wraps his cape around you.

“I’m saying,” he says quietly into your ear, “that you’re a work of art, babe, with all your colors and tones, the way you make others feel. You may not be living up to what you wanted to be, but what you are is just as great, even better in some ways, because you’re here and you’re alive, and I think that’s pretty damned amazing, all things considered.”  
  
You go quiet, unsure of how to respond, and unable to come up with a suitable insult to wrap around his words and drag yourself down. You don’t entirely believe what he says to be true, but he seems to, and that means a lot to someone on their last rope, someone who keeps staring off into the distance at your eminent doom. You hug him close, not having enough energy to fight his words, and you let him kiss your hair without protest.

“Come on, you’re freezing out here. We can go inside and get some shitty coffee so everyone can look at the fine piece of art I’ve got all curled up in my cape.” He smiles against your hair and you bring a fist against his chest.


	4. A Song You Can't Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Tags:** retcon, offshoot/alt timeline,

You like the way he sounds in your ears, breath warm against the back of your neck and competing with the steady drone of the lab. Some machine is whirring away in darkness levels below where the two of you sleep, and what used to be the bass line for an existential crisis has now become a soothing harmony with the faint purr vibrating against your spine. It’s more soothing than white noise, like a favorite song on repeat for days until it fades into the background of your life, still there and soothing your nerves without your awareness of it.

Only, with Karkat, you never quite lose awareness in your comfort. Just as you find yourself growing content, it’s as if that _one line_ fights its way out of verse, burning hot into your mind and grabbing your attention by just _how_ much you feel it, how much you adore it, how much you adore him. Your heart always ends up feeling like the words are squeezing it too tightly, the tenor threatening to crush you in its brief passing. It would scare you if you weren’t so utterly addicted to singing along, lips lingering reverently at his neck, echoing the sincerity in the melody that’s soaked into your bones as your fingers grasp his, your pulse thrumming an erratic beat against his palm. The music is shared between the two of you, not quite a duet, but not just one song by itself – more like a shared secret, two versions overlapping seamlessly where they meet and harmonizing where they differ.

You want to hear him.

He’s not here in your final moments when all you desperately want to do right now is relax into his touch and let the song of him wash all of your thoughts away. You don’t want to think about what the clock will say, although you already know the outcome; but when it stops, you’ll have to say good-bye and he’s not here. It’s . . . for the best though. It’s too dangerous with Dirk and Terezi still struggling to hold Jack at bay. He shouldn’t see you like this anyway. He’s safer, happier, wherever he is.

The clock’s still ticking, and either it’s a hallucination or some strange connection with your time powers, but you can hear the tick-tock like an agonizing metronome between your ears and you just want it to stop even though you know what stopping means for you. You desperately don’t want to think about it, but it’s hard not to when the tempo is scratching each dry beat into your sanity. So you think of him instead, to drown everything else out.

He’s a perpetually changing melody in your head, one that always sounds like the same song, the same Karkat, no matter how the color of music changes with the passing of time, the passing of his moods. He leaves you breathless, trembling – the addicting fullness of his laugh; how his touch orchestrates a progression of rising static in your head; the scathing, raw honesty in his anger, his frustration; the chilling cry of lament in his vulnerability, his exposed fears; the quiet, slow chimes when your eyes meet and linger in the darkness before sleep. There’s no way that you could ever list or fully memorize every sample that makes up the mix of Karkat Vantas, but when you think of him, being caught in his arms and held close, his heart beating steadily over the bass of a content purr, all you want to do is try to sing along anyways.

\- - -

You awake to a dream bubble and the metronome has stopped, leaving your world in unforgiving silence.


	5. Time Sleeps for No One (But You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Month-old drabble I finally got around to proofing and posting.
> 
> **Tags:** fluff

The disc-player has shut off some time ago and a message of “no signal” has been flashing on the screen since.  You should probably search for the remote, which should by lying somewhere within arm’s reach in front of the sofa, but that would require adjusting yourself, seeing as your arm is currently trapped beneath Dave’s cape locked beneath your other arm, and you don’t want to risk waking yourself from your half-daze, or risk waking Dave from his outright sleep.  You don’t know exactly when he had drifted off during the movie, but you had noticed near the end and opted to let him snooze quietly instead of waking him for your favorite part.  You know how hard sleep comes for him.

You’re not sure why, but the thought that he can sleep now makes you smile.  It’s a small smile, the corners of your lips just barely pushing your cheeks, but in your half-dreamy state, it feels nice; it feels right.  Dave is stretched comfortably over you, almost too-warm where your bodies meet, and you can feel the slow rhythm of his chest expanding and contracting against your stomach as he breathes evenly.  He’s so quiet like this, still – a noticeable contrast to the fidgety energy he always seems to carry, his lips rolling over a foreign accent in convoluted metaphors as if leaving the silence as it was would suffocate him.  You don’t mind anymore, though.  You’ve never really liked the quiet either – too much time to think.

You don’t need to think right now, though.  All thoughts are soft and lazy, falling warm and intangible with each breath against your chest before fading into the air around you.  You’re left with the impression of heartache for this moment, of being exactly where you need to be, and after feeling like you were never where you should be, that there was never anywhere you could be, you can’t imagine ever being anywhere else.  Here, you can feel Dave’s pulse beneath your skin, thrumming slow and shallow against your ribs, beating a baseline of content and comfort beneath your fingertips pressed so gently against the bumps in his spine.  In the dim light, you can see the faint shadow cast by pale lashes onto his oddly speckled cheeks, a sight you can’t find much elsewhere, not when hidden beneath his shades.  

Here, you can just be, just you and him and no one else.  Later, you can climb back over your walls to face the world, to move through one day to the next, but later is so far from now.  You’re fine like this, pressed into the couch and not moving, not going anywhere, not wanting to go anywhere.  Your thoughts are the same, sitting contently still and wedged somewhere between you and the human sleeping against you.  You could sleep, you think, but you’re in no rush to do so, even as your eyes grow heavier.  Right now, this moment of content and stillness, you’ll stay here a while longer, maybe even forever.  

Time lies still, sleeping for you.


End file.
